


All I want is my baby underneath the Christmas tree

by incandescentlight



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescentlight/pseuds/incandescentlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry seems to be against dressing properly for the weather. The only reason Louis is invested in this is because he is worried about his best mate's health and would rather that he didn't die from the flu. Honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I want is my baby underneath the Christmas tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SexyastheTARDIS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SexyastheTARDIS/gifts).



> I'm honestly not sure where all the fluff came from. I'm inclined to blame the boys and general holiday cheer though. Hope you have/had a lovely Christmas, if you celebrate it!

It’s not so much that London is particularly cold this time of year. At least not when compared to places like northern Russia or the South Pole. It’s just that regardless of relative temperatures across the globe, Louis thinks that it may be just a tad ridiculous for Harry to be wearing only a thin tee shirt underneath his trench coat in bloody December.

And all this is coming from a very platonic place, of course. After all, Louis is just worried about his best mate, like a best mate should. Best mate. Not creep who ogles said best mate’s nipples that were clearly visible through the thin cotton of his shirt. But if hypothetically, he were, which Louis isn’t, surely nobody could blame him? 

Louis is jolted from his thoughts by an elbow to the ribs. He turns to glare at Zayn. “What,” he snaps. 

“You’re staring, mate.” Zayn barely bothers to hide his laugh. 

“Don’t know what you’re on about.” 

Zayn gives him a pointed look and glances quickly to where Harry is chatting amicably with Niall and Liam. “Yeah alright,” Zayn says disbelievingly. “Best wipe your drool though.” 

Louis’s hand comes up automatically to wipe at his chin. There is no drool of course. Louis quickly drops his hand and glares harder at his friend. 

“Oh come on,” Zayn says, nudging Louis’ shoulder with his own. “This has been going on for how long now? Don’t you think you should at least talk to him about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Louis says shortly. Even if he were in fact in love with his best friend, there has been no indication that Louis’ hypothetical feelings were reciprocated in any way. So instead of fucking up a pretty fucking great friendship, he’d rather keep his mouth shut. “Besides, talking would be pointless.” 

Zayn opens his mouth, no doubt to argue the opposite. But Harry chooses this moment to turn and eye them quizzically. Louis can practically see the fight leave Zayn’s body. Zayn promptly closes his jaw and turns away with what sounds like a ‘hopeless buffoons’ under his breath. 

Harry frowns at the strange display. ‘Everything okay?’ he mouths. 

Louis finds a smile for Harry easily and nods his yes. 

x 

The next time Louis notices Harry’s appalling state of underdress, they’re heading out for a late night cupcake run. Louis is rambling about something or another when he notices Harry alternating between blowing hot air into his hands and clenching them at his sides. Louis has always loved Harry’s hands. They were monstrous things with strong fingers that should have been clumsy but weren’t. But right now, they were an angry pink colour that looked as though it might hurt. 

“Why aren’t you wearing gloves, Haz?” Louis motions to his hands. He ignores the fact that his own hands are bare as well. 

Harry grins sheepishly and shrugs in way of response. Louis huffs in mock annoyance and holds out his hands expectantly. Honestly, the boy needed a keeper. 

Harry raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Hands,” he says slowly, as though trying to figure out if they’d started playing charades without his knowledge. 

“No, idiot. Give me your hands. I’ll warm them up.” Louis huffs out. “You look like you’ll contract bloody frostbite before we even get there.” 

“Aww are you worried for me, sweetcheeks?” Harry’s tone is teasing but his eyes shine with something that Louis refuses to read too deeply into. 

“Shut it,” Louis snaps instead, but there is no real heat in his words. He also most decidedly does not blush. He rubs Harry’s hands between his own, blowing on them when they don’t warm up quickly enough. 

“Better?” 

Harry beams at him. 

x 

Over the next weeks leading up to Christmas, Louis makes it his business to try and keep Harry warm. And if he feels a thrill at seeing Harry bundled up in Louis’ scarves and beanies, then nobody needs to know. And if Harry seems to take particular pleasure in warming his hands by burrowing them in any and all of Louis’ pockets (because he couldn’t physically fit into Louis’ tiny gloves, he claims), then Louis certainly doesn’t notice or mind. 

Zayn and his knowing looks could go fuck themselves. 

x 

They’re at a Christmas party and Louis is working his way up from pleasantly tipsy. At this point, Louis is drunk enough that the thought of accosting Harry underneath the mistletoe is starting to seem very appealing. Not that he would actually risk their friendship for a snog. At least Louis doesn’t think he would. But then again, Harry’s lips are so very pink and very tempting indeed. 

“Tommo!” a voice booms out, and suddenly Louis finds himself with a very drunk and affectionate Niall in his arms. “‘ve missed you, mate!” 

“I saw you not even an hour ago, you drunk bastard.” 

Niall laughs boisterously. “Couldn’t remember if I tried, mate.” 

Louis grins back in face of Niall’s infectious enthusiasm. “Have you seen Harry? Haven’t seen him since we got here.” 

“Yeah, I think I saw him in the back with some of his hipster friends,” Niall waves a hand in its general direction. 

“Cheers mate,” Louis says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

There are quite a few people mingling in the room at the back, but a glance around tells Louis that Harry is not among them. He’s about to give up and maybe go bother Zayn when Louis sees what looks like Harry’s familiar curls through the patio doors. 

His grin dies as soon as he opens the door. The two boys on the terrace break apart at the sound of the sliding door but not before Louis gets a good look at Nick fucking Grimshaw attached to Harry’s lips. 

“This isn’t the loo,” Louis hears himself say. His mind is too numb to care that his words make no sense. He thinks he might have apologized as well, but it’s hard to pay attention to the sounds his mouth is stringing together with Harry looking at him like that. 

“Right,” Louis says after a moment of awkward silence. 

He flees. 

“Shit shit shit,” he mutters under his breath as he weaves through the crowd. He can't bear to think about what he'd just witnessed. His number one priority is getting the hell out of here. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he wipes angrily at his eyes and his hands come away wet. Louis has never been particularly good with dealing with his emotions and the last thing he needs right now is to think about Harry kissing boys. In fact, he thinks that he might be entirely ill-equipped to deal with the thought of Harry and Nick Grimshaw in any form of amorous embrace even on a good day. 

He somehow makes it to the front door when a hand catches him by the elbow. Louis is suddenly faced with the very serious face of his best mate. 

“Harry,” Louis manages. “What are you doing here.” 

Harry stares intently at him for several moments. “I wanted to explain about Nick.” 

Louis lets out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical even to his own ears. As if he needs another reminder that _HarryandNick_ is a thing that happened. Because it isn’t. And if he repeats it to himself enough times, maybe he’ll fall asleep believing it. 

“He kissed me,” Harry clarifies. “We’re not like, a thing. It’s not like that.” 

“There’s- you don’t owe me an explanation, H.” Louis definitely sounds hysterical now. “You can kiss whoever you want. It’s not my business, really.” 

“But I want it to be,” Harry says carefully, brow creasing in uncertainty. “If you do, I mean.” 

Louis is having troubling following the trajet of their conversation. Harry was kissing Nick but now he wanted it to be Louis’ business. Louis' mind races as he tries to make sense of the onslaught of new information. In the meantime, he would say something witty and deflective. 

“What,” he says eloquently.

He’s about to try again, when he sees Harry’s eyes flicker up to rest on something above Louis’ head. 

“Oh,” Harry exhales. Louis' forehead creases in confusion. Harry's eyes stray down to his lips briefly before finding Louis’ eyes again. “Mistletoe.” 

“Oh,” Louis parrots back. He doesn’t even look up because at the moment, he can’t seem to look away from Harry’s face, which is suddenly very close indeed. In fact, Harry is close enough that Louis could probably count each individual eyelash. His breath fanning over Louis’ lips distracts him, driving him crazy. 

Louis has fantasized about kissing Harry at least a million times in a million different ways. And in none of them, did he ever refuse the chance. But this isn't a daydream; this is Real Life and Louis isn't about to fuck it up by letting himself misread the situation to suit him. Still, it takes every ounce of self control for Louis to resist the urge to reach up and finally feel those plump lips on his. 

“Lou,” Harry breathes. It sounds like a question. 

Louis' breath hitches in his throat. Maybe he's reading too much into it, but he swears that Harry's pupils dilate and his eyes trace the movement of Louis' tongue as he wets his lips. So maybe self control isn't his strong suit, but Louis is pretty sure that he won't be getting another chance to kiss Harry. And there is also the alcohol to consider. So all in all, Louis figures that nobody could really blame him. 

He inches forward slowly to give Harry plenty of opportunity to draw back. 

Instead of pulling away, Harry exhales in a needy whisper that sounds like it might be Louis' name. 

Louis feels the last of his control snap and then suddenly, soft, plump, perfect lips are moving over his. Harry tastes like stale alcohol and Louis thinks that it might be the best thing he's ever tasted. It certainly doesn't hurt that Harry's tongue is stroking hotly, and full of promise, along his. Harry's large hands feel so very present and warm, stroking his jaw and gripping his hip. His brain goes into overdrive with thoughts of _Harry_ and _Harry’s lips_ and _Harry’s lips on my lips_. Someone keens loudly and Louis thinks that it might have been him before Harry does that thing with his tongue and then Louis just doesn't care at all. 

Sooner than he’d like, Harry pulls away. Louis whines quietly at the loss. He’s about to lean in for another when he registers Harry’s expression. With his bottom lip between his teeth and eyes wide, he looks achingly uncertain and hopeful. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, voice low in a way that sends a shiver down Louis’ spine. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

Harry’s face breaks out into a blinding a grin before he swoops down again to pepper Louis’ face with kisses. Louis laughs breathlessly against the onslaught of affection. He tugs at the curls he’s always loved so much and smiles into the kiss when Harry finally takes the hint. 

They have a lot to talk about tomorrow; but tonight, Louis just wants kiss the boy who, by some stroke of luck, seems to want him just as much as Louis wants him. 

x 


End file.
